One Great Year (23 page)

“But you have memory?”

“Yes,” the high priest confirmed, wanting to alleviate the Emissary's alarm. “It is my role to educate and to be the Keeper of Records. It is essential that I have unlimited memory. It is a blessing and a burden in
equal
measure, as I am sure you have learned.”

“It makes sense. What good is it to have no memory? What good can an Emissary be without memory?” Plato inquired. “I see them faltering, their auras bright and bountiful but their heads foggy and unaware.”

“You are mistaken, friend. The knowledge of the Universe is woven through their souls. It does not leave them. Once learned, the wisdom stays with them and grows stronger as they learn, deep and eternal. It is like the foundation of a great building, forever remembered in every cell and vessel. It is
your
predicament to remember what you need not, Marcus. How does it haunt you?”

“Theron. Have you seen Theron? I search for her still.”

“I have known her many times and she has made a difference—she is the brightest of an impressive group. You will be tested, Marcus. Your choice to have memory brings much heartache and pain with it.”

Plato nodded, but pressed the priest further. “I have no doubt that you are correct. I hope that by coming here I can move further on my path, but is she here now? Do you know where I can find her?”

“No, she is not here. You must know that to look for her is futile. The soul of Theron is well at work somewhere on this plane or another. Only when it is destined … only then will your paths cross again.”

“I understand,” Plato said miserably.

“How is it that you remember? How is it so? Leave nothing out, I am not your judge.”

“The day of the reckoning I followed Helghul, do you remember him?”

“Go on,” Red Elder said, nodding.

“It is still not totally clear to me, though I know that the images of that day have plagued my dreams and sent me nightmares in many lifetimes … I remember a high cavern and I hid from view and watched … I can still feel my fear, my overwhelming horror … they murdered the children … smashing them … but I did nothing.”

“They killed the innocent to strengthen the Dark Energy … the Darkness feeds on murder and sacrifice,” Red Elder explained.

“Helghul was there with others, chanting … and there was a person in charge … someone leading them, though I couldn't tell who it was. Helghul was sacrificed.”

“Helghul? They killed him?” the high priest asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

“No, not dead … he was cut or injured, but something
took
him … from the inside out. He was consumed and a darkness entered him. I looked away … I cannot speak as a scholar about what I saw, it is too inconceivable … and even now my mind runs from it,” Plato said.

“What happened next?”

“Helghul drank from a vial. I heard it said that the liquid would enable him to remember in future lifetimes. I hid until all were gone and … before I left … as I was leaving I saw it … I retrieved the discarded bottle.”

“You risked dark magic? Were you not afraid or hesitant?”

“I was afraid to forget. I chose to remember,” Plato said defiantly.

“Is it possible that you endure this choice for the love of Theron?”

“Yes, for the love of one,” Plato replied.

“No … for the love of Theron. The love of One is something altogether different,” the high priest corrected.

“You remind me of my mentor Socrates, with your challenging and reorganizing of my words,” Plato said, smiling. His initial distrust had been eliminated and he was calmed by the soothing karmic energy of Red Elder. The men spoke for a while longer, and then Plato was taken to a group with which his needs for learning would be met.

Plato remained at the school for many months. The students were advanced in thinking and understanding and were led almost exclusively by Red Elder personally. Plato read and studied the ancient wisdom of the Emerald Tablet, first expanded into texts centuries before by Red Elder when he was Hermes. The scriptures were always a new lesson, in every word and phrase a myriad of meaning and direction. Each carefully chosen syllable was a beacon on the path to the purest form, to the ultimate Oneness with God, and each time he read the documents Plato gleaned new meaning and understanding.

Plato never saw the actual Emerald Tablet; it was carefully hidden and well guarded. When Plato inquired about the need for such precautions, the high priest explained that the tablet was the key to universal power and balance.

“How?” Plato had asked, intrigued.

“That is not for me to tell. Each soul must journey on its own path to find that answer,” Red Elder had replied.

Plato heightened his spiritual awareness and understanding alongside his fellow seekers. As his Marcus-brain grew clearer in voice, he found himself thinking more often of Theron. Plato remained uncertain about what he should do next in the world. He meditated, wrote, and prayed, but Marcus doubted himself and blocked the growth that he was not yet ready to receive.

Plato wished that Socrates could have visited such a miraculous place and could have met Red Elder. They would have had brilliant conversations, and he would have loved to listen to them. Plato often had questions for the high priest, and Red Elder was always willing.

After a few months of intense practice and study, Plato became restless and sought out the leader of the Emissaries.

“Why are we hiding? Why do we not parade the universal truth through the streets?” Plato asked.

“It is our role to make them think, not to feed them what they have no stomach to digest. Each person must begin a search of their own. Mankind is not ready … is not spiritually developed in this Bronze Age. Those who are meant to study will end up here or at one of the other schools around the world. When the light among men is bright enough, we will open the records and share the wisdom. There are Ages … prophets and development that have yet to occur. We cannot yet reveal the great knowledge and trust that it will not be misused or misunderstood. The magic science could be used for evil, to gain power. As we, the keepers of the Light, are striving, so are the conjurers of the Darkness. If the knowledge was freely given now, it would deepen the shadows into which we are currently descending. We are on the eve of a Dark Age of man.”

“How will I know when the time is right? When will my work be done?”

“For every soul there is a theme, a path that must be followed, and lessons that must be learned. It is for the Emissaries as for all others in the Grid of creation. Even when in service for the greater good, you must honor your own destiny and complete your own cycle of learning. I know you feel weary, but you are early in this journey. The journey
is
the reason. The experience and growth
are
your purpose. Milk each moment for the lesson and experience it offers. Do not spend your days searching for what is not there. See the lesson and wonder in every moment.”

“How can I find my theme or … my personal lesson?”

“It will find you, but you must be open, you must meditate and contemplate and live a mindful life. Your time here in Egypt is finished, Plato. You must move on.”

“I feel it also, but to where? Back to Athens? There is nothing for me there.”

“It is your choice. If you seek answers, you may choose to journey to the Oracle of Amun in Siwa and ask your questions, but it is certainly time for you to move forward.”

Plato contemplated the advice for a moment. The Oracle was renowned, and Plato had previously wondered if it might be a worthwhile journey. It may help him find Theron.

“In future lives, how will I find you?” Plato asked.

“When our paths are meant to cross again, they will. If it is wisdom and comfort you seek, you need only be introspective as you have practiced, and you can join the Universal Web of Energy. You are never alone, Marcus. We are all One,” Red Elder reminded. Though Plato knew it was true, he did feel alone, and Marcus was no less determined to find Theron.

Within days Plato sent word to the young guide, Amnut. Siwa was three days away across difficult desert terrain, and Plato needed experienced guides. Amnut, with the help of his uncle, was efficient and well prepared with camels and provisions, for a price. Amnut's uncle's colors were dull and gloomy compared to the luster of his nephew's, and his surly disposition was obvious.

The journey to Siwa was smelly and uncomfortable. Plato ached from the relentless jostling, but he loved the efficiency of the camel's physiology. He watched in wonder as the animal's toes spread and gripped on each sandy step.

Amnut was a joker, and Plato found himself laughing aloud as he had not done since losing Socrates. He would truly have felt light and happy in his adventure if he could only have lived in the moment, if he could only have been a man with one lifetime and no longing for Theron tugging at the corner of his contentment. Marcus was sad to be alone in his past-life memory and wished it were Theron speaking jovially from the camel beside him.

They rode for three scorching days across the vast golden desert. The sameness of the landscape and the slowness of the mounts gave the illusion that they were standing still. It was a different world, and it was hard to imagine that this place existed on the same planet as Athens. On the cold nights they slept under the expansive starry sky, and the moon and stars were bright and close. Plato was happy to converse with the curious Amnut.

“So you say, everything has … soul and moves in patterns? The planets, sun, and moon?” Amnut clarified in choppy Greek.

“Yes, and they are all spheres. They are like a ball, not flat like papyrus. And, yes, they have an ethereal soul and are alive, just like you.”

“How do you know? Why do I believe you?”

“You shouldn't. You should seek knowledge for yourself, not let your head be filled by others. Your questions are well thought and indicate a strong mind. Have you been to school?”

“My father say … school is for weak and wealthy … and I am none …”

“Your mind is like clay. If you shape it and mold it constantly, adding new wetness and knowledge, it will stay malleable and changeable. If you let others form it, never seeking knowledge of your own, it will harden and grow brittle and weak,” Plato replied.

Amnut's uncle snorted his disapproval from across the fire.

“You disagree? Please share with us your thoughts. I am a man who believes my knowledge can always be improved upon,” said Plato.

“You would have him believe the lessons of his father are worthless,” the uncle said clearly.

Plato was surprised by his mastery of the Greek language. He had not heard more than a few words from the older man thus far. “No disrespect was intended. It is only that I see in this boy a great mind, and I hope that he will continue to question the world around him and learn what he can to improve himself.”

“Who are you to say that he needs improving?” the old uncle groused, and he slumped his body away from the fire, not wanting to offend a paying customer who had yet to pay.

“Oh, Uncle, only this morning you shout loud for everyone to hear, the many ways I could be improved!” Amnut laughed, and his offended uncle smiled despite himself.

The temple of Amun was a lush oasis, rewarding the weary travelers. The sanctuary and its community rested on the bank of a large lake surrounded by thick vegetation and groves of shady palm trees.

The village was bustling and there were many dressed in the robes of priest and monk. The locals regarded the party curiously—always welcoming but cautiously aware of visitors. Amnut accompanied Plato to the base of the main temple.

“This is … best I can do. We wait outside?” Amnut asked.

“No. This is where we part, young friend,” Plato said, climbing down from his camel after Amnut directed it to kneel. “You are free to return to Heliopolis when you wish. I do not know where and when I will go from here.” Plato paid the balance of coins owing for his transit, fleetingly grateful for the continued patronage of his wealthy uncle.

“I sad you not come back. You good man with smiling heart and much ideas. I learn much by you.”

“And I you. I have no doubt we will meet again, if not in this life, in another,” Plato said, embracing the young man warmly and kissing him on each cheek. The uncle snorted again—a nonbeliever, a skeptic.

The holy temple of Amun was built on a hill of indigenous rock that overlooked the village. Steep stairs led to the main gate, through which there was an open courtyard. In the center of the compound, near the entrance, a circular stone altar housed a sacred flame. The fire had been blessed by the Oracle and had been faithfully kept burning by the devoted sect of priests who maintained the building and its unusual treasure. People from all around came daily to pray and to light their torches. Many also came to seek an audience with the famed Oracle, and many were turned away. The Oracle granted audience to very few. Plato was hopeful that he would be successful in his quest.

Once Plato disappeared from sight, Amnut finally agreed to leave. Plato passed the congested fire pit toward the entrance. It was a narrow marble archway ornately carved with symbols of gods, animals, and oracles. The eye of Horus was carved at the pinnacle of the archway. Priests and others not recognizable by their clothes stood in groups, talking in hushed tones. As Plato grew closer, the groups clustered casually in front of the door, blocking his progression.

“I have come to see the Oracle. Anima mundi,” Plato said to those who were passively blocking his path to the door.

“Many come. Move on traveler, seek your fortune elsewhere,” a robed priest answered protectively. Plato's Marcus-brain urged him on. He wondered how he could demonstrate himself worthy. The Oracle might tell him his theme and his path, and surely it would lead him to Theron.